Voldemort's Legacy: The Tale of Ava Harrington
by TacoEater302
Summary: Voldemort may be dead, but his final card has yet to be played. Deep in the Forbidden Forrest, his daughter awakens, ready to take her father's place. The battle has only just begun. Better summary inside
1. Part 1: Delilah

** Summary: The world rejoices at the defeat of the much hated Lord Voldemort. But among those that are delighted, his most loyal followers are in agony. However, Dumbledore was not the only one who could plan further ahead. The Dark Lord's final card comes into play, as his daughter, Ava awakens from a five year sleep to take her place as his successor. Suddenly, the Malfoy's are on call again as yet another great war rests on the horizon. But what of the Dark Mistress and Draco? Why does she find her eyes drawn to him?  
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**Pairings: DracoxAva (Eventually), HarryxGinny, RonxHermione, GeorgexAngelina, and NevillexLuna  
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****Disclaimer: All belongs to J.K. Rowling, besides my few characters. As I am placing them in her world though, I won't much care to claim them as mine. They were inspired by her amazing writing anyway.**  
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><p><strong>One week before the Deaths of Lily and James Potter:<strong>

Dumbledore paced his office, beard swishing against his robes as he turned sharply. He glanced routinely at the clock on his mantel. The fire was roaring below, tossing long shadows into his office. The old man sighed, forcing his feet to cease the repetitive motion. He was not usually an impatient man by any means, but something was very wrong tonight. He glanced at the fireplace again, then drifted over to the window. A harvest moon hung above, bathing the grounds in silvery light. There was an eerie silence. Surely every student was asleep by now.

The old man sighed again, placing his head on the windowsill, but quickly jerked himself upright when he heard the faint POP.

Remus Lupin's face appeared in the fire, eyes dancing with the flames. He appeared to be furious.

"What is this Dumbledore? You must be joking."

The old man slowly removed his half-moon spectacles and rubbed them clean with his robe.

"I'm afraid not," he said gravely.

He pulled forth the chair from behind his desk and paced it near the fire. The face of Lupin had become quite haggard in the past few years. The war with Voldemort had been wearing on all the witches and wizards. Even the goblins, in all their hatred for the wizards, seemed to grow tired of the neverending battle. Hopefully it would stop soon. If all went right.

"Dumbledore. You owe me this explanation!"

"I do, Remus. I do."

The old man was silent for a moment, and in this sliver of silence, Fawkes melted out of the flames above Lupin's head and settled on his master's shoulder. The reassuring warmth revived the tired headmaster enough to start the explanation.

"You are aware that your cousin, Delilah Harrington, was killed by Voldemort almost a year ago?"

There was a grinding of teeth from the figure in the fire.

"I am very much so aware, Albus."

"There were...complications."

Lupin slowly narrowed his eyes.

"What do you mean...sir?"

Outside, rain began to fall.

The headmaster opened his mouth to tell the gruesome tale.

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><p>Delilah Harrington's death did not occur as one might expect. It was not her first encounter with the Dark Lord, but her second that ended her life. Although many over the years would strongly disagree, the first encounter brought life. Although Voldemort usually did not stoop himself so low, Delilah Harrington was a beautiful woman by all means and some men cannot help themselves.<p>

For the first time, Voldemort did something that brought no reward to him. Not yet, anyway. The night Delilah was raped was the same night her husband was killed in the war. By Bellatrix Lestrange, if you must know. And while she lay weeping on her kitchen floor, she knew that the Dark Lord had come to kill her husband, Darius Harrington who had posed a huge threat to the outcome of Voldemort's plans. The Dark Lord did not know his most trusted servant had already taken care of him.

The news did, however draw him away from her and back to Malfoy Manor to celebrate. Delilah knew not what grew inside of her for a long while. She had been excited at first, hoping there was a part of Darius alive within her. As the months passed by, she knitted clothes for her baby and sang her (for she was very much convinced it was a she) songs about life and love.

She believed that she survived the Dark Lord's assault for good reason. When the month of her birth arrived, the world changed abruptly. It was a total eclipse. She was very sure that it was not Darius's son. The fact just seemed to slap her in the face, and her whole attitude towards the still growing form changed her world.

She was torn to keep it, because this was the creature that she had knitted the clothes for and sang to every night. But how could she? This was the Dark Lord's daughter!

Delilah thought back once more to the weeks following Darius's death. They had not had time to spend a romantic evening in such a long while...

Yet her brain seemed to cling to the fact that it was his child so stubbornly anything else was lost in the distance. But that morning that she felt something sickening within her, she layed down and cried, cursing whoever had made her life such a hell.

When the darling girl came, Delilah truly tried to love her, but he had seen pictures of Voldemort in his younger years, and she was such haunting reminded of that terrible night, she eventually decided to leave her at a nearby orphanage. Out of sight, out of mind. Her nerves were far too shot to continue caring for the girl.

Three days later, Voldemort paid her his final visit. Upon learning he had a daughter, a window of opportunity lay ahead. When Delilah stuttered that the orphanage had been moving and she did not know where, he killed her quickly, then turned his eyes to the east, where a now deserted building could offer clues.

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><p>"You do not know where she is?"<p>

"No. We only just discovered her existence. But rest assured, we will find her before her murderous father may fill her head with his dark thoughts."

Remus squeezed his eyes shut, trying to imagine such a monstrosity.

"Her name?"

Dumbledore turned his head back to face the grounds outside. Something very evil was amiss. What would come to pass if Voldemort played a role in this girl's life?

"Albus?"

"Her name is Ava."


	2. Part 2: Devil's Mouth

The third day after Voldemort fell to Harry Potter for the final time, a strange man was seen slinking into the Forbidden Forrest. The mass of students and volunteers who were repairing Hogwarts hardly stopped to stare, for there was far too much to be done at the time to worry about a stray person. Luna Lovegood stood straight and narrowed her eyes, but a gentle prodding from Neville set her back into motion. The moment was not entirely forgotten, merely cataloged.

The man's name was Grant; no last name. He had thrown that away the moment he decided to become a Death Eater. The forest seemed to hold the very presence of his old master, within the fog that furled itself around the bending oaks and in the rustle of dry leaves across the parched ground.

He tried not to pass the space where Harry Potter had feinted death and tricked Voldemort for the final time. He swore revenge on the boy, but at the moment he was not the first priority. There was something much more important at hand.

It was many hours of travel that finally led him to the Devil's Mouth, a cave that dipped deep into the earth and seemed to suck everything dark within it. He slowed his pace as he drew nearer.

"Lumos," Grant whispered nervously. His words echoed deep down into the stone. He hoped it wouldn't wake disturb anything crawling within the depths.

He began a slow descent in the the ancient structure, the final message from Voldemort burning in his pocket.

Find her.

He shuddered again, feeling a chill settle upon his old bones. He had lived his life at the side of Voldemort, ever since he came to Hogwarts. His loyalty would not waver now. Not ever.

His footing became sure of itself, so he let himself become lost in his memories.

"Hey Grant! Nice glasses!"

Eli, a third year roughly the size of a baby troll snatched his glasses from his face and chortled dumbly.

"Not much an improvement. Wish I could fix that hairdo!"

Grant's hand jumped automatically to his greasy, slicked back hair.

"The hair of a gentlemen," his mom had said primly.

Eli snickered, dropping his glasses to the floor and rolling his foot over them.

Crunch.

"Defend yourself," a voice murmured from behind him.

He turned to see Tom Riddle, the young, poker faced boy who had been one of many watching his torment. There was almost a bored look upon his handsome features, but Grant still felt compelled to prove himself.

Grant, mouth flapping open, nodded.

"Petrificus Totalus!" he cried, whipping around very suddenly.

Eli's rough face went rigid in shock a moment before the rest him stiffened and crashed to the floor. He and Tom began snickering, then, upon eye contact, their laughter grew louder and louder. The crowd shifted away nervously, some of them already beginning to guess what was within Voldemort.

Thanks," Grant chuckled, eyes dancing happily.

Tom smirked at him.

Their lives slowly began to wrap around one another, in a way they had never imagined possible. They flowed in perfect synch with one another, the first years of their life had merely been a large stone set in the river. They had flowed slowly around it, only to be joined on the other side. Their goals were the same, and the road there was to be walked together.

It was he who decided to call himself Tom's Death Eater.

"Whatever threatens your well-being will be destroyed," Grant growled, one day, eyes darting around the hall as if he expected to be challenged while walking from one class to another.

Tom laughed, sounding pleased.

"I know Grant. I can trust you, more than anyone."

Smoke curled around the memory, drawing him back.

Grant shook his head roughly, focusing on the task at hand. He believed himself to be Tom's only true friend in the world. His heart throbbed painfully in his chest now that Tom had been vanished from his life. He was thinking about the last day he and Voldemort talked before the prophecy was made.

"Don't go, Master," he had begged.

"This child poses no threat. I have found where his family is hiding, thanks to Wormtail. It should only take five minutes."

The memories flashed faster now.

He had walked away, only to have his killing curse rebounded. Grant had not seen him for such a long while...thinking him to be dead.

Bellatrix and her husband, thrown into jail, several Death Eaters turning their backs on the Dark Lord.

He thought of the night he returned.

This was when his face abruptly slammed into a wall of stone. He gulped audibly, stepping back to inspect the structure. At a glance, it appeared to be a large scattering of boulders. Yet nuzzled in the shadows of the two largest rocks was a darker rock that was smoothed at a slant. The gnarled grass reached around it, keeping it firmly in place. This underground haven also held a small lake, and variety of wildlife that most scientist did not knew existed. It was her prison. And now, he was forced to go to her.

To the monster.

He slowly pulled out his wand, hands trembling slightly. He took a deep breath, then murmured the words.

"Grant of the First Ring, here to waken the serpent from eternal slumber."

The thick grass seemed to hiss and unfurl and creep away from the stone surface. It trembled, shifting around to leave a small place. Just enough space for him to worm his way into the darkness. He forced himself through, finding the steps that led to her chamber. This journey was short enough that his frantic mind had not even thought of running by the time he reached the bottom.

Grant hastily pointed his wand into the dark room, which was lit only by a candle. A girl lay on the grand bed, flat on her back and hands folded across her chest. Her pale blond hair was fanned about her, shimmering in the darkness. She would have appeared to be a corpse, if not for the faint rising and falling of her chest.

"E-enervate," he whispered.

May the Dark Lord's daughter awaken!

Within the shadows, the girl opened her dark green eyes to stare in wonder at the room about her.


	3. Part 3: His Will

Draco fiddled with his wand, not daring to meet his mother's eyes. The clock in the background ticked off the seconds of her silence. It was a very thick silence, tensed with the words he had spoke only moments before. Thinking it would be best to ward off the explosion, he dared to add more.

"I just think it would be better to continue my education...elsewhere."

Narcissa raised a perfectly plucked eyebrow and pressed her lips together even tighter. She placed a hand on the nearest chair and took deep breaths in and out. When she finally spoke, she was not calm exactly, but very calm compared to what she could have been.

"And why should I even let you out of my sight again? You nearly got yourself killed!"

Draco raised his eyes to meet his father's, hoping there might be some sympathy there. Lucius had sat quietly by the fire, focused on a book. When the question had been asked, he had limply raised his head, as if he were curious to his wife's reaction. He was surprised to find his father did have a scrap of uderstanding deep down.

"We understand, son. I will write a letter to Durmstrang immediately."

Draco's heart skipped a beat. So it was really happening. He was going to Durmstrang.

Narcissa hissed in disbelief, her eyes slitted like a snake's. Sometimes Draco wondered if Voldemort had preferred his mother's fire over his father's easy submission to the rules he set.

"Lucius! You musn't!"

Lucius looked down at his book, though he did not seem to be reading. After a moment of silence, he said, "Let him go. It's time for that decision to be made anyway."

Draco stood, nodding respectfully to his father. He wasn't sure what exactly his father meant, but he was glad to be leaving the Manor once summer ended. The place was still haunted by the Dark Lord' presence. So much so that even when he was showering, he felt uneasy. There was no room that he had not ventured in, leaving his cold mark.

He did something unusual then, as he was leaving the room. He kissed his mother on the cheek. She stiffened in surprise, then seemed to melt.

"Oh Draco..."

He left abruptly, needing time to think. Emotional scenes were certainly not his favorite thing.

What to do with the rest of the summer? He wondered what the famous Potter was doing now. Probably soaking up praise and love. Typical Potter. The world would be all sunshine and rainbows for him now, while Draco's seemed to be getting darker and darker.

He wasn't entirely sure what he expected of Durmstrang. A new beginning, a new life. Anything. He knew it was time for things to change.

With that thought, he arrived at the door to his room. Smiling, he pushed it open, then froze.

An owl was swooping out of the room, leaving snow white feathers drifting lazily in his wake. How had the window been opened? Swallowing loudly, he stalked forward, trying to stay silent. He peeked out of the window, examining the grounds below. Nothing moved except for the albino peacock that Draco swore to kill one day. The accursed thing kept him up all night several times out of the week with its wailing.

Sighing heavily, he shut his window and turned to glare at his eagle owl, Thor.

"Why didn't you stop that thing?"

His bird ruffled his feathers haughtily and turned his back.

"Whatever," Draco mumbled, drifting over tot he bed where the mail lay.

The envelope was simple, with his name scrawled on the back messily. He opened it cautiously, not sure who to expect mail from. He didn't really have friends.

The first piece of paper that fell out was from Potter himself. Wrinkling his nose, Draco picked up parchment daintily and read.

It was in Dumbledore's will.

_Dumbledore._

The name sent Draco's cheeks aflame. He had almost killed the old man. Should have. Never could have.

He picked up the second piece of paper, studying it for several moments before setting it down gently on his dresser. Locking his door, he turned to the window.

"Accio Nimbus," he whispered. There was a sharp whistling sound as his Nimbus flew to him.

"I'll be back, Thor," he called softly. He was truly going crazy. He was about to leave to see Potter of all people and now he was talking to birds.

As he soared out the grand window, the moon's rays stretched longingly forth, almost as if they were trying to caress the letter. Illuminated by the light, the dark words seem to glow.

**_Brace yourself, young Malfoy._**

In the corner, Thor turned his beady eyes on the letter and let out a soft hoot. It almost sounded like laughter.


End file.
